


Cheers

by Bigmurderenergy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Peter Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigmurderenergy/pseuds/Bigmurderenergy
Summary: Peter Parker walks into a bar.





	Cheers

**Author's Note:**

> Peter is dealing with a lot at the end of Avengers: Endgame. And I have no idea how he's supposed to cope, but this was just small theory on how that could go down. Un-beta'd and written on the super quick.

Peter Parker walked into a bar.

His first time doing this in his 16 years conscious to existence. But now he was 21. At least, that’s what his driving permit says.

A few of the kids at school had already tried it to a roaring success. Well, Flash claimed it was a roaring success. Apparently, there were shots all around, happiness flowing through multicoloured cocktails of fruit juice and spirits. Peter rarely listened to Flash’s bragging, but the way he spoke of this magical experience was intoxicating.

Plus, Peter wasn’t even sure if he could get drunk. No harm in trying. That was his mantra as he walked in.

He’d finished his rounds already. Being Spider-Man in a post apocalypse was a lot of heavy lifting and trying to stop people grabbing the nearest resource they could, regardless of who it technically belonged to first. Robberies had gone up a lot since he was last in Queens.

It shouldn’t be too surprising. 50% of the population was left behind to scrounge together a society. Something functional, that worked, while experiencing the worst global trauma ever known. Peter had no idea how they managed.

But now everyone was back. And this world, although still aching from their absence, could hardly comprehend re-incorporating them into their world. There were a lot of arguments. Broken families. Children growing without parents only to find them again having experienced their emancipation years ago. It was a confusing time.

Peter was currently living in an old army barracks upstate with the rest of the Avengers, after their home was destroyed by the battle. When he wasn’t at school or patrolling he was training with Clint and Wanda. When he wasn’t training he was sitting with May in her tiny apartment in Queens. It almost felt like they didn’t fit anymore.

The problem with everyone having experienced a trauma together? How do you even begin to talk about it? Everyone lost so much, only to regain it magically. With a snap of the fingers. But Peter hadn’t gotten everyone back. He’d lost more than just his home. But how can you talk about that when everyone is so relieved to have their loved ones back. How can you express this emptiness when people just want to be happy for the first time in a very long time? Why can’t we accept this joy bestowed onto us?

Peter remembered how it felt to disappear. To feel himself become dust. He still had nightmares. And yet he knows it’s not as bad as what the people who were left behind had to endure. It hurts too much to comprehend, to wallow. It’s better to be distracted in the end.

Peter honestly thought the bar would be busier.

But it wasn’t. There were a few patrons in the back booths talking quietly against the soft rock in the background. The bartender was busying herself with wiping down the surfaces and rearranging glasses. She wasn’t exactly rushed off her feet. Peter hoped that meant she’d be more forgiving.

He walked to the bar with a steady stride. This was going to be fine. Flash had done it. If Flash can, Peter certainly can.

“Hey, excuse me.” Peter called.

The bartender walked over. Looked him up and down. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some ID here, kid.”

Busted already. The first hurdle. Peter could do this. He could be cool, steady as you like. Technically he is indeed 21. Sure, he’s in the body of his 16-year-old self, but come on, that’s just semantics. Legally he had legs here. He was Spider-Man for crying out loud! He’s all about upholding the law!

He pulled his ratty driver’s permit from his wallet. He noted his wallet was covered in Star Wars rebel insignias. This probably wouldn’t help his case in the court of law.

His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his fingertips. His ears were vibrating.

“Ahuh, 2002.” She read dubiously. There was a pregnant pause as she looked him up and down again. He stood still, trying to will the sweat on his brow away. “Look kid, you’re not the first one to try this.” She paused again. “And you won’t be the last. So, screw it, one drink. Just the one though. And don’t go telling all your friends I let you off. Can’t be letting that spread.”

Success! With minimum effort! He couldn’t help the smile spreading over his face, the sigh of relief.

“Alright, pick your poison.” The bartender smiled.

“Beer!” Peter all but shouted. She nodded and as she walked off Peter waved again. “Actually. I’ve changed my mind, can I have a whiskey, please?”

The bartender stopped short. “A whiskey?”

Peter’s mouth went impossibly dry. “Yeah. Can you do it with a drop of water, no ice.”

The bartender looked at him a couple seconds, then began preparing his drink.

Peter’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding. His brain was whirring loudly, almost like a machine. He wasn’t sure why he’d just said those things, so smoothly, almost mechanical. But it made his breath catch in his throat when he saw Tony’s face behind his closed eyelids.

The bartender returned, the tumbler placed in front of him almost gently. He couldn’t hear the glass against the bar surface. He could barely hear the music any more.

He reached out to the glass. Brought it to his lips. He could smell the alcohol, heavy on his nose, it made his eyes water.

The bartender was still standing in front of him.

He couldn’t bring himself to take a sip. He realized how this must look.

“Did your dad drink that?” The bartender asked softly.

Peter froze.

She looked at him kindly. She was young. Not as young as him. Mid-twenties probably. Maybe thirty. Had she disappeared with everyone else? The look in her eyes says no. She looked a lot older than her frame. She looked as tired as Peter felt.

He could hear Tony’s voice in the back of his head, “Whiskey, drop of water, no ice.”

“Yeah. He did.”

The bartender nodded. Then walked down the bar.

She returned a few seconds later with her own whiskey.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked, drink in hand.

Peter felt the tears falling down his cheeks. It was then he realized he was already crying.

“Yeah.” He all but sobbed.

She raised her glass. “Alright then, cheers.”

Peter raised his glass to hers, lightly chinking them together. “Cheers.” 


End file.
